


i built my dreams around you

by besidemethewholedamntime



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Christmas Time, F/M, FitzSimmons Secret Santa 2019, Happy Ending, Mild Angst, Mutual Pining, sci ops era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:21:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21979501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/besidemethewholedamntime/pseuds/besidemethewholedamntime
Summary: "Jemma sleeps on planes in order to combat jet lag and so he’s left alone, staring at the dark with thoughts racing through his mind. In America he has a handle on his feelings. They have their routines at work and at home and it’s easier to know where he stands. But at home? With Jemma seeing his mother, his childhood home, the city that made him, it might be too much to bear. "A Christmas Eve deadline means that Jemma has to accompany Fitz back to Glasgow for the Christmas season. A Fitzsimmons Secret Santa gift for the wonderful dilkirani!
Relationships: Leo Fitz & Jemma Simmons, Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons
Comments: 22
Kudos: 78





	i built my dreams around you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dilkirani](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dilkirani/gifts).



> (late) MERRY CHRISTMAS! It is me, your secret santa! I'm so excited to share your gift with you and I hope you're having a wonderful festive season! I just realised as I finished that I slightly went off your prompt a little but I hope you like it just the same. I love writing sci-ops and oblivious Fitzsimmons and it was so much fun to do so thank you! 
> 
> Title is from 'Fairytale of New York' by The Pogues 
> 
> I hope you enjoy <3

This is how it begins.

They’re on a plane. It’s the first time either of them has been on one in over four years, ever since they started working at SciOps and got their own flat and suddenly plane tickets came after paying rent and buying food. They’re heading to Glasgow to spend time finishing a report that SHIELD wants no later than Christmas Eve, despite the fact they’d already booked their flights home and Jemma’s flight being the easier one to change.

And they’re arguing.

“Are you sure you’re okay with it?”

“For the last time, _yes._ Why do you keep on asking?”

They’re sitting side by side, forcefully whispering at each other so as to try not to wake the person on Fitz’s left. Jemma was lucky enough to secure the window seat, something he’s only a little resentful about.

“I feel bad about it,” Fitz hisses. “It’s the twentieth of December and you’re missing some of Christmas with your parents.”

“Well don’t,” Jemma says sharply, louder than she meant to because she bites her lip to see if the old lady next to Fitz wakes. When she doesn’t, Jemma whispers, “I made a choice and besides, they’ll hardly even notice I’m not there.”

“Don’t say that. Of course they would.” He whispers it automatically, wishing it were true, but he thinks she may have a point. He’s met her parents once, and her mother’s unblinking eyes and her father’s tight-lipped smile had made him shiver.

“Anyway,” Jemma says, leaning back in her seat. The plane ascends further and she rubs her ears, grimacing. On instinct he hands her a pack of chewing gum. She always forgets her own. Nodding her thanks, she says, “It doesn’t matter now, does it? We’re already here.”

“We can still change. We can get a cheap flight and go down to yours if you want.”

“I don’t,” she says sharply, and puts in her earphones, effectively ending the conversation.

-x-

Fitz doesn’t like to say he’s in love with Jemma. It’s not quite that simple.

For a start he doesn’t have anything to compare it to. He’s never been in love before. How horrible to be thinking that you’re in love and then finding out that all you felt was a fondness, something that a deep friendship like theirs would provide. He doesn’t want to end up disappointing himself.

And secondly, well, he’s a traditionalist. They don’t have a romantic relationship. He’s hesitant to put a label like ‘love’ on a feeling that may well fizzle out if they ever kissed each other or slept together.

He does, however, definitely feel _something_ that far surpasses the usual feelings of attraction and indeed even deep friendship. There’s not an easy way to define it, but he knows if something were to happen and they had to go out into the field for whatever reason, he would dive onto a bomb for her, no hesitation.

Jemma sleeps on planes in order to combat jet lag and so he’s left alone, staring at the dark with thoughts racing through his mind. In America he has a handle on his feelings. They have their routines at work and at home and it’s easier to know where he stands. But at home? With Jemma seeing his mother, his childhood home, the city that made him, it might be too much to bear.

She’s visited before, of course, but that was years ago when the money for buying flights didn’t come second to rent and food. And back then he was younger and still in awe of the life he was living, training to be a secret scientist for a spy agency, that he forgot to be in awe of Jemma Simmons.

Now it’s different, it’s all different, and a feeling he doesn’t know, courses through his veins and makes him feel warm every time he looks at his best-friend. There’s so much uncertainty, and that’s why he was looking forward to coming home, a place he hasn’t been in four years, where everything stays the same.

He looks over at Jemma who’s leaning against the window, using her cardigan as a blanket. It’s slipped a little, exposing the tops of her arms to the cabin chill.

His heart thumps in his chest; already he’s losing control of himself. _I’ll start when we land_ , he thinks, sighing softly and he pulls the cardigan back up to beneath her chin.

-x-

“Glasgow is certainly not what I thought it would be at all.”

They’re in the taxi, crawling through the busy streets on the way to his mum’s house. Jemma’s nose is to the window, breath fogging up the glass like a child.

The taxi driver says nothing, a rarity, leaving Fitz to be the one to speak.

“You’ve been to Scotland before.”

She turns to him, far too bright-eyed for 10am in the morning when Fitz feels as though his bones are made of lead. “Yes, but only to somewhere in Perth for our Summer holiday, and then Edinburgh before we went home.” She turns back to the window. “It wasn’t quite like this.”

Fitz is glad that she can’t see his face. Edinburgh and Perth? It’s hardly indicative of the true Scotland, and he wonders what Jemma will think of his home city, a place that’s ingrained deeply within his bones. “What were you thinking it would be like? People getting beat up on every corner? Knives lying in the street?”

He usually doesn’t care what people think of the city, after all it can hardly be denied that it has a reputation that it partly lives up to. But Jemma’s not just people, she’s Jemma and it matters to him what she thinks of his home. It matters very much.

She turns to him again, an incredulous look on her face. “Fitz, no, don’t be stupid. Of course not.” She gestures out the window. “I was talking about the Christmas lights.”

His heartrate settles and he feels his face go red. “Oh, yeah. Sorry.”

He looks out his own window. The day is dark even at this hour of the morning, overcast and drizzly, but it makes the Christmas lights strung from lamppost to lamppost stand out, and there’s a beauty in the reflections on the wet ground.

It’s been such a long time since he’s been home and there’s such a relief to it that he didn’t expect. Wherever he wanders he always feels a little on edge, a little uncomfortable and nothing ever feels quite the way it should be. And when he comes home everything settles into place, he can draw a full breath and it just feels exactly right.

He loves his job and over time he’s grown to love America but he’s still a Scotsman at heart. He loves it here and, though he’ll never admit it, he so desperately wants Jemma to love it, too.

-x-

“Shoes by the door and bag and jacket just lying on the stair? That must mean my boy is home!”

Fitz hasn’t seen his mum in person in over two years, when she flew out to surprise him for his birthday, and he’s amazed at how he could have forgotten how loud she could be for how short she is. He and Jemma are sitting at the kitchen table, laptops and papers in front of them in an attempt to be productive when the front door opens and then closes and his mother’s loud and loving voice fills the entire house.

“We’re in here,” he shouts back, immediately pushing back his chair and standing up just in time before his mum comes into the kitchen, dropping her own bag on the floor as soon as she sees him.

“Oh, son,” she breathes, pulling him in for a hug so tight that when she lets go his spine feels as though it’s made of crushed lightbulbs. She looks up at him, her eyes so like his own. “I’ve missed you.”

He smiles self-consciously, painfully aware of Jemma’s presence in the room. “I’ve missed you too, mum.”

“I thought you weren’t coming until later. I would have tried to swap shifts if I’d known.” She swipes under her eyes. Then she notices Jemma.

“Oh, Jemma! I didn’t see you there, sweetheart. Come and give me a hug as well. You’ve both gotten so grown up.”

Sometimes Fitz forgets that his mother met Jemma years ago, when both of them had just started the Academy and were sixteen and achingly shy. She’s known Jemma almost as long as he has, nearly eight years now. A dizzying thought.

After more hugging and kissing and fawning his mother bids them both to sit down at the table. He goes to the kettle instead, making her a cup of tea the way he used to always do when she came back from a shift.

“Thank you for letting me stay, Mrs. Fitz,” Jemma says. “It’s very kind of you.”

His mother’s expression does not change. It never does, no matter how many years it’s been. “Och, nonsense. You’re family. You stay as long as you like. And please, Jemma, there’s no need to be so stiff about it. Call me Maggie.”

Fitz brings the tea over to the table, his mum taking a cup gratefully. It’s been years since he was last here, even more since they’ve had this particular routine. As he sits down, he finds himself staring at his mum; at her short blonde hair that seems to be a tough lighter, the dark circles under her eyes. He wonders if they were always there and if, back then, he was just too young to notice.

He feels Jemma’s eyes on him, her eyebrow raised in question. Something catches in his throat, a too-large feeling, and he shakes his head and looks away.

-x-

“Are you happy there?”

It’s dark and it’s late, so late it may even be early. They sleep in Fitz’s old room, Jemma in his old single bed and Fitz on the floor. In their own world they might have shared, but as a matter of propriety under his mother’s roof they do not dare.

Jet lag has ruined his sleeping pattern but he expected Jemma to be asleep. He frowns into the dark. “Happy where?”

“There. In America. At SciOps.”

Her answer has provided no illumination and his frown only deepens. “Of course I am. Why?”

He hears the duvet rustling and Jemma’s face shifts into view. She nibbles at her bottom lip, a clear sign of her anxiety over something. He begins to get very nervous; Jemma never hesitates to ask him things.

“It’s so _nice_ here, Fitz. You seem so happy to be home and to see your mum again. I love my parents, honestly, I do, but it’s always so prim and proper and it doesn’t feel like it used to. If I had what you have I just… I just don’t know how I’d ever leave.”

He and Jemma are scientists, firstly and foremost. They are so in their own right, long before they knew each other. They aren’t emotional people, even less so to each other, and when something becomes too much it tends to spill over in quiet, dark moments like this. It takes his breath away. There’s an ache, something dull but heavy, in his chest.

“I do love it here,” he says simply. “This is my home. But I also love our work, what we do together. It’s worth it.”

She nods, biting her lip, and he can tell she still doesn’t really understand. “But this is so lovely. How could you possibly want to come back to America after this?”

 _I left once, didn’t I_ is on his tongue but he doesn’t say it. There are a number of things to explain, a number of things he doesn’t want to around this time of year. It wasn’t always so lovely. There could be days and the only sound would be the slamming of the door when someone inevitably left. He doesn’t want to remember that.

“What we do is important,” he says at last, looking into Jemma’s face looming above his. “Would be selfish of me to pack it in just because I missed my mum.”

She smiles at that and his heart resumes a normal beat. Her face clears of questions. “I suppose. Goodnight, Fitz.” She rolls away from him.

But there is still something hanging in the dark, he can tell, and it isn’t long before she says, “It must be hard, even still, being so far from here.”

How to explain to her that home is something different for him now, that it isn’t what she thinks of in her mind. He can’t see her face in the absence of light and it makes him careless.

“I don’t need it,” he says at length. “I have you.”

He rolls over at that, pressing his face tightly into the space between his blanket and the duvet. He expects to hear rustling of sheets over the drumming of his heart but there’s only silence, both of them, evidently, having run out of things to say.

-x-

In true Fitzsimmons fashion they manage to finish their report early and, with a day to kill before Jemma leaves, they decide to explore the city.

Fitz can no longer pretend that he would have been happy to go to Jemma’s instead. He likes England well enough, but it always feels quite off, as if looking at his own country through glasses with the wrong lenses. Everything is the same except it’s not, and the tiny, subtle differences make him feel strange. Even though Jemma’s presence in his house, seeing sides of him that nobody has ever seen before, is taking a toll on his nerves, he feels really glad that he is here.

They explore the Christmas markets and the shopping centre and are half-tourist and half-local in their antics. Jemma’s laugh rings his ears, her smile makes his chest flip and he thinks that what he feels maybe really could be love, and he thinks of how completely terrifying that would be.

“Oh, Fitz!” Jemma turns to him, eyes bright. “We should go!”

He wonders what they’ve stopped at and realises with some horror that it’s the temporary ice-rink put up for Christmas. Athletic pursuits have never been his strong suit. He shakes his head. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” Jemma says firmly and, taking his hand, leads him up to the stall to pay.

He should say no, he should mot definitely say no, except he can’t, of course he can’t, and he allows himself to be given a pair of garish orange skates and pushed onto the ice.

Jemma, of course, is a natural and begins to glide around like a professional whilst he clings to the edge as though his life depends on it. She circles the ice a few times before coming back to him, skating backwards as he skitters like a baby deer at the edge.

“Let go of the edge and it will be much better, trust me. You’re too nervous.”

“Well wouldn’t you be?” He snaps back, as little children whiz past him. “I could crack my skull open.”

Jemma makes a noise in the back of her throat. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not!”

“You are!” She comes closer, holding out both of her hands. “Here, take my hands and I’ll skate with you until you get the hang of it, alright?”

He does so warily, letting go of the edge at the last possible moment. “If I fall then you’ll fall,” he warns.

Jemma grins. “Then don’t fall.”

Her hands are warm in his own and the sudden resurgence of that feeling again makes him forget his fear. With his muscles slightly less tense he manages to push himself around a little as opposed to being dragged.

Jemma is his best-friend. It’s a fact, tried and tested and proven beyond all doubt. Yes, he has dreams in his head of something else but it doesn’t matter because this friendship, above all else, is something that needs to be protected. He can live without a relationship. He can’t live without her.

The realisation causes him to stumble slightly, and immediately his muscles seize up and he flails all over the place, saving himself at the last possible second by throwing himself towards the edge of the rink. He stands there completely motionless as he catches his breath.

Jemma’s by his side in an instant.

“You were doing so well, Fitz. Honestly. Just give yourself a few minutes and then we’ll go back out.”

“No…” he shakes his head, still trying to draw breath into his lungs. “No, I uh, I think I’m just going to go sit down for a minute.” He waves to the benches just outside the rink. “You go skate. I’ll be fine.”

Jemma worries her bottom lip. “Are you sure?”

He nods. “Yup. One-hundred percent. I just need a minute to catch my breath.”

She looks unsure still and so he gently nudges her. “Go _on._ You’re a natural. Maybe could go for the Olympics if the science career doesn’t pan out.”

“Torvill and Dean, eat your heart out,” she laughs.

“Yeah,” he manages to smile back. “Exactly.”

“Alright. I’ll see you in a minute though,” she warns and begins to skate again.

Fitz, dragging himself off to the benches, scrubbing his hands down his face watches her skate around, looking happier and more carefree than she’s been in a while. And in this moment he sees her as he knows he will always see her: eyes bright, cheeks flushed from excitement, and grinning in a way that seems as though she holds the secrets of the entire universe within her smile.

-x-

It’s late at night when he stumbles downstairs in order to get himself a glass of water. He and Jemma had been out late, and almost immediately after dinner and a shower they’d passed out in their respective beds.

It takes a moment for him to realise that there’s a lamp still shining and, frowning, he follows the light to find his mum sitting on her chair in the living room, a tray on her lap, writing Christmas cards.

“Mum? What are you still doing up? It’s two in the morning.”

“Oh?” She rubs her eyes, blearily looks at her watch. “So it is. I’ve been on nights lately and you know me, always have trouble adjusting back.”

Fitz decides to forgo the glass of water and sits on the sofa opposite his mum; a sense of an important conversation in the air. “How is work anyway?”

Maggie Fitz shrugs. “Ach, you know. Doctors are doctors and patients are patients and sometimes I want to bloody strangle them both.” She grins. “Wouldn’t change it for the world, though.”

His mother once said that the only two things that got her through those dark days while there was a third person living in their house was her work as a nurse, and him. He’d made a face, a terribly vulnerable one, and she’d never said it again

“I’m glad you’re happy, mum,” he says, and finds that he means it more than he’s ever meant anything.

“Thanks, son,” she says, and for a moment there’s something gentle in the air between them, a tender moment that neither of them quite knows what to do with. It’s gone in an instant and she changes course.

“And you?” She asks. “Are you happy?”

He thinks about his life, flicking through it in a moment. Yes, he’s a bit skint, and sometimes SHIELD bureaucracy makes him want to tear each of his hairs out individually, but other than that yes, he thinks he might just be.

“Yeah. I think so.”

His mum nods thoughtfully and looks back down at her Christmas cards. “And what about Jemma? Does she make you happy?”

He knows where this is going but he decides to tread the path anyways, figuring it’s better to do it now when the world is asleep.

“Yeah,” he repeats, and he feels the smile on his face as he thinks of Jemma. “She does.”

“Hm.” The noise she makes in her throat is all-knowing and she still doesn’t look at him. Her attempt at nonchalance doesn’t fool Fitz. He decides to wait it out and sure enough it’s not long before she finds her voice again.

“And does she know how you feel about her? That you love her?”

He wasn’t expecting her to be quite so blunt and he feels the blush start almost immediately. He wants to crawl away from this conversation but instead he rolls his eyes. “Aw, mum, come on. Do we really have to do this?”

She’s never taken any of his nonsense and just looks at him pointedly. “Well, does she?”

Immediately the surly teenager act is dropped. He looks at his shoes. “Uh no. She doesn’t.”

“And are you going to tell her?”

His response is immediate, more passionate than he intends. “No. I’m not.”

“And why not?”

“ _Because,”_ he says pointedly. “I just can’t. It’s not love, mum. It can’t be. We’re friends and that’s just – it’s just the way it has to stay.”

He hadn’t realised his heart was beating quite so hard but now he feels breathless. His mum looks at him curiously, a mixture of pity and deliberation, as if she can’t quite decide what to say to that. She’s his mother and she loves him completely, this he knows without a doubt, however she’s also a Glasgow woman, born to a time when feelings were an inconvenience, and soft words of comfort are not something he’s come to expect.

She shakes her head. “You’re just like your father.”

Even so, he wasn’t expecting that.

There’s a hot shame that comes with the mention of his father and it starts in his toes until it comes to sit on his chest. They don’t talk about him, not ever, and it’s perfectly fine. His whole life is dedicated to _not_ being like him and for his mum to mention it now cuts deeper than anything else could.

“What?” He whispers, face screwing up, angering covering his unbearable hurt, the fear that it might actually be true. “How? How am I like him?”

She’s not put off by his acidic tone, not that Fitz expected she would be. “You feel things, and you feel them so much you don’t know what to to about it. That was his problem, too.”

“Mum, _please_ …” It’s his worst fear coming true and he doesn’t know what to do or what to think. “I’m not him.”

“No, you’re not,” his mum says gently. “You’re not him, but there are things, Fitz, that you get from him whether you like it or not. He was afraid of love, thought it made him soft and weak and it made him the way he was. You’re afraid of it, too, but the difference is you just keep it all inside you and you’ll make yourself miserable instead of risking anyone else.” She shakes her head again. “It’s not a way to live.”

He stands up, the stinging in his eyes relenting. “I’m not miserable, mum. I’m really not.”

“I know you’re not, sweetheart,” she says, and her face is tender in the lamplight. “I just don’t want you to end up so is all, just because of fear. There are things to be afraid of in life, plenty of them, but not this, aye? Not love.”

He doesn’t want to think about it anymore. He’s tired and he wants to go to bed and he tells her so. When he goes over to kiss her goodnight, she rests her hand very gently on the side of his cheek and says:

“I watched your father beat his heart until it was dead and couldn’t hurt him anymore.” Her touch is soft but her eyes and tone are stern. “Don’t make the same mistake.”

And then she pats him gently, and sends him off to bed,

-x-

“Are you okay?” Jemma mumbles when he comes back into his room.

“I’m sorry, did I wake you up?”

“You did when you left,” she yawns, and by the crack of light from the hallway he can just about make out her face, mostly buried in the duvet. “Was waiting for you to get back.”

His heart is still beating quickly from the late night truth-bomb his mum has just dropped on him and he doesn’t know what else to do except crawl into his makeshift bed and hide himself in amongst the covers.

“I’m okay,” he says at last. “Sorry to have woken you. At least you’re going home tomorrow.”

“Don’t need it anymore,” she mumbles, almost incoherent.

He twists to look up at her. “What?”

But she’s already back to sleep.

-x-

Things aren’t made any easier in the morning light.

In a rare Christmas miracle (or nightmare as it later becomes) a blanket of snow has fallen during the night and turned the whole world white. When he first looks out the window and sees the winter wonderland, Fitz feels like a child again, marvelling at how breathtaking it is, before the realisation settles in about the havoc this will cause.

“Yes, alright… I’ll try… Thank you.”

Jemma comes off the phone and flops onto a kitchen chair opposite Fitz. “The flight’s cancelled. They say I can come to the airport if I want to try and get another but seeing as it’s two days before Christmas, they aren’t hopeful.”

She wraps her hands around the freshly made cup of tea, forehead furrowed. Fitz’s mum puts a hand on her arm.

“What about the trains?” She asks, looking to her son. There was an awkwardness there this morning that they ave seemingly abandoned in order to help Jemma. “Will we phone them?”

“The trains will be even worse, mum. She’d get to Carlisle and the train would get cancelled.” But he looks at Jemma’s face and says, “We could try, though. If you wanted.”

“No.” Jemma shakes her head. “It would be a nightmare anyway without the snow. And I’d rather not get stranded between two places.” She sits up straighter, never one to be kept down for long. “I’ll find a hotel or something.”

“A _hotel_?” Fitz’s mum lets out a horrified gasp, as though Jemma had just told he she planned to eat a baby for dinner. “Why on earth would you need a hotel? You’re staying with us, not even a question. A hotel indeed. What utter nonsense.”

Jemma looks from Fitz to his mother. “I don’t want to ruin your Christmas, and you’ve already been so kind in letting me stay.”

“Jemma,” his mother says fiercely, “You are family. You wouldn’t be ruining Christmas, not at all. You’d be adding to it as far as I’m concerned.” Her eyes turn to her son. “Tell her, son.”

He narrows his eyes at her briefly, sure that she’s aware of her words. Then he turns to Jemma, mouth opening and closing a few times in an effort to work out what to say. He’d love her to stay, he would. His house is warmer with her in it and, sure, his feelings are a nuisance but he can deal with that. He doesn’t want her to be alone. However, there’s a small voice in his head that wonders _what if she wants to leave?_ He doesn’t want to make her unhappy.

“It’s fun here at Christmas,” he tells her, managing a smile. “And you should stay. If you want.”

Jemma worries her bottom lip. “Are you sure?”

The question seems to be for his mother, but she looks directly at him.

“Yeah,” he says. “I am.”

“Well there, that’s it settled! A hotel indeed. As if I’d let you be in a hotel for Christmas.”

His mum’s outrage makes both of them laugh. From across the table Jemma mouths a _thank you_ that makes his heart do a somersault in response.

-x-

Jemma, in an effort to be thankful, does everything she can to help and by association Fitz is dragged into it.

Throughout the whole day on the twenty-third she is a tornado, blowing endlessly from one room to another polishing and scrubbing and hoovering. His mum is at work and the task of scolding him for not keeping up naturally falls to Jemma.

“We’ve got ages,” he tells her. He’s just sat down for lunch, right this second. His sandwich looks up at him from his plate.

“You’re behind on lunch because you’re behind on cleaning the bathroom,” Jemma reminds him from the doorway. “And so you’ll have to sacrifice lunch in order to get it all done on time.”

“Mum does this every year no problem,” he says. “And by herself. I don’t really get how it’s working that we’re behind when there’s two of us.”

“Fitz, I’ve made a schedule. The decent thing you could do is stick to it.”

He looks her in the eye and takes a big bite of his sandwich. Jemma shakes her head in disgust and turns away.

-x-

_“How’s it all going?”_

He can barely make out his mum’s voice on the phone, the background noise of the staff room muffling the sound.

“Yeah, its fine.” He runs his hand through his hair. He’s just finished hoovering all of the stairs, and lugging the great thing up and down whilst trying not to trip on the cord has really taken it out of him.

_“I hope you’re not letting Jemma do everything?”_

“No,” he sighs. “She’s got a schedule and everything.”

_“That’s my girl. Have you told her how you feel yet?”_

“Mum!” He gasps, and then lowers his voice immediately. “No, and I’m not going to.”

_“Aw, come on, son. Now that she’s with us for Christmas it’s a brilliant opportunity.”_

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Or a really terrible one,” he says, voice tight. “Would be a great way to make it awkward.”

 _“Nonsense,”_ she says, sounding very much like Jemma. _“It’s perfect._ ” A voice calls to her from the background. “ _Look, I’ve got to go. Some bugger’s ripped out his drip for the third time.”_ She takes a deep breath. “ _Just think about it, alright?”_

Fitz takes a deep breath, too; he’s doing a lot of thinking lately. “Okay, I’ll think about it.”

“ _Good. I’ll see you both later. Love you.”_

“Yeah,” he sighs, hearing Jemma call his name from upstairs. “Love you, too.”

-x-

“Won’t your mum and dad be missing you this Christmas?”

Jemma pauses from where she’s washing dishes, and her faces takes on a strange kind of look. “No. I don’t suppose they will.”

He wishes he hadn’t asked. “I’m sorry, Jemma.”

“Don’t be.” She smiles at him but her eyes glisten. “I’m here with you. That’s not such a bad Christmas to have.”

He nods and takes the dish she holds out for him to dry. “Yeah. It’ll be the best Christmas ever.”

By speaking it into existence he hopes that it becomes truth. He doesn’t necessarily mind about himself, but he does for her.

-x-

Jemma creeps downstairs late that night.

A full day of cleaning has taken it out of Fitz, who had fallen asleep almost immediately and now lies curled up like a question mark on his air mattress. She’d had to step over him as she left and he hadn’t stirred in the slightest, still snoring softly.

There’s a lamp still shining in the living room that she has to cross through to go to the kitchen to get the glass of water she wants. She gently pushes open the door to see Maggie Fitz sitting in her chair, writing Christmas cards. She looks up immediately as Jemma enters.

“Hello, sweetheart,” she says, smiling warmly. “Are you alright?”

“I’m alright,” Jemma says. “I was just coming down for a drink. Sorry if I disturbed you.”

Maggie Fitz smiles like she knows something Jemma doesn’t. “No, you’re alright. I’m just writing cards so at least some people can get them before Christmas. Don’t let me stop you.”

She goes back to writing and Jemma slips quietly past her to get her glass of water, getting one for Fitz as well. He has the same habit she does for waking up in the middle of the night for water.

On the way back through the house she turns and says, “Thank you for letting me have Christmas with you again. It means a lot.”

“Oh, of course. Anytime.” Fitz’s mum looks up at her through her glasses. “I mean that, Jemma. Anytime you ever need anything you only need to come to me.”

Jemma feels her heart melt. As bad as she feels about it, she’s rather glad she’s not in her own home. It’s not like this place is, so full of love.

“Thank you,” she says, her voice thick. “Thank you so much. Fitz is very lucky to have you.”

“Ach, I’m sure he doesn’t always think so. I’m just his interfering old mother. He must complain about me all the time.”

“No, no,” Jemma hastens to reassure her. “Not at all. You can just hear it in his voice how much he loves coming back to see you. He was so excited to be coming home this year.”

“Really?”

The surprise in the older woman’s voice makes Jemma frown. There’s something she’s not seeing, not understanding, and as much as she hates having these gaps in her knowledge, she’s far too polite to ask. There are things, Fitz has taught her, that people would rather you didn’t know.

But Maggie Fitz doesn’t shy away from the truth. She puts down her pen. “It wasn’t always such a nice place here, sweetheart. That’s why I think he left as quick as he did, as young as he was. There’s so many memories here.”

Jemma sits gently down on the couch, suddenly understanding. “He never speaks of his father.”

“Nah. He wouldn’t. By not mentioning him he pretends he doesn’t exist. He thinks it’s better that way.”

“And you don’t?”

Fitz’s mum shrugs. “It’s not how I do things but I don’t want to upset him. In some ways he’s just like Alistair, though. That stubbornness, that fear of those big feelings that make life what it is.” She shakes her head fondly. “I love my son, I’d do anything for him, and I suppose that’s the hard part of being a parent: letting them figure these things out for themselves.”

“Fitz is wonderful,” Jemma tells his mother. “He’s the kindest, most-caring person I’ve ever met.”

“That’s my boy,” she laughs. Then she gives Jemma a searching look. “And I’m guessing you haven’t told him, either?”

Jemma frowns. “I’m sorry, told him what?”

“That you love him.”

Her heart stops and she expects Maggie to laugh, say what a big joke it is. Instead Fitz’s mum just looks expectantly, eyebrow raised, as she waits for an answer.

There’s no lying about it. She’s an awful liar anyway. Instead she looks at the glasses of water in her hands, her face flaming and mumbles, “No. Of course not.”

“Are you planning on telling him?”

Jemma still can’t look up. “No, I… I can’t.”

“What’s stopping you?”

Honestly, she doesn’t know. She’s never usually afraid to speak her mind, to live with the consequences it will bring, but this is Fitz… She can’t risk him, could never risk him. Their friendship is the most important thing in the world to her. Yes, more would be lovely, and her dreams are filled with a life they could have together, but as long as she has their friendship then everything will be alright.

“Work, I suppose,” she begins shakily, not knowing what to say. “They have all these rules and they’re strict and I suppose they have to be because they’re a government agency and I-”

“Jemma,” Fitz’s mum interrupts softly.

Jemma looks up. The room is blurry. “I’m scared that he won’t feel the same way. That – that he’ll think I’m being ridiculous and silly.”

“Oh, sweetheart. Of course, he won’t think that.”

Jemma feels her bottom lip wobble. “How can you be so sure?”

His mum smiles knowingly. “Ah, I have my ways. Don’t worry about that.”

She wants to trust this woman, who in a few short days has moved from ‘Fitz’s mum’ to a second mother of her own. She really does. But she’s had eight years by Fitz’s side and she’s too scared to contemplate what her life might be like otherwise. Their lives are so intertwined, like two strands of DNA, and to extricate themselves from each other would be more than she could stand.

“I don’t want to lose him,” she says, feeling very small. “I really don’t want to lose him.”

“You won’t, my love. I’m not as smart as the two of you, God knows the things you two do go twice as high over my head, but I know this, alright?”

She stands up, placing her Christmas cards to one side. She comes over to Jemma and cups her face in both hands. “Don’t let fear get in the way of the life you want,” she says. “What’s for you won’t go past you.”

And then she lets go, stepping back. “Goodnight, Jemma,” she says softly and leaves, muttering something about _two sides of the same coin_ under her breath as she goes.

-x-

It’s Christmas Eve.

The three of them have spent the whole day for preparing for the big day and all of Fitz’s aunts and uncles who’ll be descending on the small house. They’ve peeled potatoes and baked dessert and strung up enough lights to make the Blackpool illuminations envious. By the time Fitz’s mum leaves for her night shift there’s an air of preparedness, as if to say _Christmas, we’re ready for you now._

Fitz and Jemma sit in the living room, wrapping last minute gifts. Fitz is truly terrible at it and he keeps folding all of the wrong corners and the tape keeps getting twisted before he has a chance to stick it down.

Jemma, on the other hand, is a natural. All her corners are crisp and sharp, the tape seems to flatten itself obediently on the parcels. Come tomorrow morning his family will definitely be able to tell which gifts were wrapped by whom. It’ll give them another reason to love Jemma. Their adoration for her is in no doubt.

There’s something else in the air also. Something charged. Christmas music plays quietly and they laugh and joke the way they always have done but there’s definitely something different. Fitz can’t put his finger on it, and it makes him nervous.

The conversation with his mum replays in his head, over and over again on a loop, until he almost convinces himself that she has a point. He doesn’t want to be like his father, even the thought of it makes him feel ill. He doesn’t want to grow the way he did, never satisfied with life, always suppressing emotions in favour of science so hard and cold that Fitz has never wanted to touch it. He wants to be happy, have a life beyond his work, and he wants to have it with _her._ He doesn’t want to be afraid anymore.

And here, in this moment, with both of them sitting cross-legged on the living room floor in the house he was brought up in, with the magic of Christmas all around them, he is brave enough to at least try.

“Hey, Jemma?”

“Yes?”

She looks at him, eyes soft and dreamy. It’s almost midnight, soon to be Christmas Day. Perhaps they should just go to bed…

 _No, Fitz._ An inner voice that sounds suspiciously like his mother chimes in. _You can do it. Just tell her how you feel._

He shuffles closer, barely an inch, but his hair stands up on its end regardless. Words jumble about in his brain and he fishes for the right ones. God, he didn’t know this would be so hard.

“I… uh… I have something I want to say…”

He twists his fingers and looks down at the ground, heart thundering so fast it feels like it’ll tear out of his chest, ribs and all.

“Alright…” Jemma’s voice is full of nerves and he can imagine her face, the dreams in her eyes replaced with questions. He’s always enjoyed her curious look. It’s one of his favourites.

“Our friendship, right? It’s… it’s one of the most important things to me, and I-I don’t want to risk it, not for the world, and so, and so I’m going to.” He laughs a little, if only to hear something different than the beating of his heart.

Jemma still says nothing and he still cannot look at her. He ploughs on, aware that he’s started now. It’s like the singularity, he supposes. He’s almost at the event horizon. The point of no return.

“You’re my best-friend, Jemma. My best-friend in the whole world, but, but lately you’re not just a best-friend to me. Well, you’re not ‘just’ anything but that’s not what I mean. I mean that,” A deep breath. “I mean that you’re something _more._ ”

There’s a silence, the heaviest of silences, and suddenly Fitz is aware that he’s more frightened than he’s ever been in his entire life. It’s a long few minutes until he’s able to raise his eyes from the ground and into Jemma’s and his heart almost bursts when he sees that she’s smiling.

“Well,” Jemma says. “That’s a relief.”

Of all the possible outcomes, he certainly wasn’t expecting this. “What?”

“Oh, this all seems to silly now but I feel the exact same way, Fitz!”

Her happy declaration banishes the fear from him in an instant and the only thing he can repeat is, “What?” but this time it’s with a smile on his face, too.

“I’ve been wanting to tell you for quite some time now but I was scared you didn’t feel the same way and that you’d think I was silly and then I had a conversation with your mum and-”

“What?” He repeats again, aware it’s becoming his go-to answer but not quite being able to care. “You had a conversation with my mum?”

“Yes, the other night. She was very enlightening, really. She told me to stop being afraid and that I shouldn’t let fear get in the way of the things I want.”

“Oh, she did, did she?”

His mum’s good. Very good. He’s forgotten how she can be and she’s really excelled herself this time. Fitz can’t really find it within himself to be annoyed at her, however. He’s far too deliriously happy to care.

Jemma’s worrying her bottom lip again. “Are you mad?”

“No.” He chuckles at the absurdity of the question. “No not at all.”

But she still looks unconvinced, perhaps taken aback by the newness of it all, and with the delirium gone straight to his head the only thing he can think to do is cross the small space between them and very gently take her face between his hands and capture her lips with his own.

It’s something that he’s been thinking of doing for a while, ever since this feeling that he doesn’t want to call love but love it most certainly is has appeared in his chest. It’s not a particularly good kiss – they’re smiles are too wide and their hearts too loud – but it’s _real._

Fear has vanished now, utterly and completely. He feels so happy he thinks he could die and be revived from it.

When they break apart they don’t, and still sit there, foreheads touching.

“I can’t believe I was so scared,” he whispers.

“Me neither. It all seems so stupid now.”

There are a thousand things to think about and none of them have any place in their heads until later. For now they are here, together, and that is more than enough. Tomorrow will be spent with family and then after- after, it seems, they will have all the time in the world.

And so, they sit there, foreheads touching, completely at one, as church bells begin to ring out, heralding the beginning of Christmas Day.


End file.
